


Touchstone

by PepperF



Series: The future of the Air Force, the program, the entire planet (God help us) [1]
Category: Stargate SG-1, The 100 (TV)
Genre: ALIE is the Orici, Dante and Cage Wallace are some kind of humanoid lizard people, F/M, Grounders are Goa'uld/Tok'ra/Jaffa, I mean, Mutual Pining, Oh yes, Right?, Stargate AU, also, but maybe if I write more in this universe, it's just in my head, most of that is not in this fic, not in this ficlet anyhow, they have all the best cliches you know, which doesn't get resolved, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 06:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10551442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF
Summary: Bellamy has two methods of dealing with aliens. The one he tries to use most often is casual charm—a warm smile, non-threatening stance, using the genetic advantages he's been given, which work on most people who are attracted to human males. Miller always said he waslaying it on thick, but Bellamy's seen him do the lowered-eyelashes–silent-chuckle–shoulder-nudge move at more than one alien cookout, so Miller can stick it. It's good PR:Be friends with the Tau'ri, we're cute.His team is getting a reputation as intergalactic flirts, but it could be worse.Today, though, he's not in the mood to make friends, so this is the other method.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The Stargate AU That Is Threatening To Eat My Brain. This is all I've written so far, and I'm considering it complete as-is. I may or may not write more, depending on rl/motivation/misc, but at the moment I'm in love with this whole concept so it's not UNlikely.
> 
> Thank you to Bethany for playing along and giving me good ideas - and a title! :D

Bellamy has two methods of dealing with aliens. The one he tries to use most often is casual charm—a warm smile, non-threatening stance, using the genetic advantages he's been given, which work on most people who are attracted to human males. Miller always said he was _laying it on thick_ , but Bellamy's seen him do the lowered-eyelashes–silent-chuckle–shoulder-nudge move at more than one alien cookout, so Miller can stick it. It's good PR: _Be friends with the Tau'ri, we're cute._ His team is getting a reputation as intergalactic flirts, but it could be worse.

Today, though, he's not in the mood to make friends, so this is the other method. "Hey! You."

The villager turns, looking warily at Bellamy and his team bearing down on her. Their weapons aren't raised, but they're at the ready, and they probably look pretty intimidating. Bellamy isn't especially tall or hugely physically imposing, but he's good at faking it. Miller has a terrifying look of cold assessment, like he won't hesitate to shoot you if necessary (the secret is, it's true). Monty and Harper are both very obviously cuddly teddy bears when encountered alone, but the uniforms and guns make them into a unit, armed and competent.

Bellamy halts, and modifies his tone—but only slightly, because he's worried, and impatient, and _pissed_. "Where's Major Griffin? Clarke Griffin," he adds, when she looks blank.

"Oh! Clarke." The accent is vaguely Scandinavian, which usually means Asgard, but the flamboyant architecture says Goa'uld so he's not taking any risks. The woman points deeper into the village. "She is in the charnel house."

Bellamy's fingers tighten on his gun, and he starts forward without another word. He hears Monty thanking the woman as his team follows.

The charnel house is easy to spot. It's the only building lined with the bare skulls and bones of generations of the dead, grimly decorative, like a gingerbread cottage from hell. Bellamy stomps up to it, teeth clenched so hard his jaw aches. If she's in here, if she's _in here_... The door slams into the wall when he opens it, rebounding so hard that it catches on his outstretched hand. 

Clarke looks up in surprise.

It takes Bellamy a second to find his voice. "Fuck. I thought..."

"Bellamy," she says. She sounds pleased, but not surprised to see him.

Monty barges past him to wrap Clarke in a hug, which does seem to surprise her. "The charnel house, seriously?" he asks. 

Clarke laughs, hugging him back. "Oh!" She gestures behind her, to where she's assembled a couple of complete skeletons on the lid of a tomb. Her speciality is medicine, but she's always been interested in the historical aspects of their job, Bellamy remembers. How had he forgotten that? "I've been here three weeks, waiting for you, and I got bored..."

"So you thought you'd do the world's worst jigsaw puzzle?" asks Miller. Clarke grins at him as Monty releases her. 

"Something like that. It's good to see you all." She nods to Harper, and then her eyes flick back to Bellamy, and away again quickly. "I've missed you."

There's an odd, choked noise. It came from him, he realizes, and makes an effort to pull himself together. "We had a message that you were on this planet. It wasn't very forthcoming with details."

Clarke looks guilty. "And they sent you here," she concludes, softly. "Sorry. The message was from me, but I didn't want to risk... well. You came. And I'm okay." She looks like she's trying to reassure him, and it makes him itch. He doesn't want to need her reassurance, or at the very least he doesn't want her to see that he does.

His fingers tighten on the edge of the door he's still holding. "So, it's important?" he asks. "Whatever made you get back in touch?"

She nods, the warmth disappearing from her face—and he recognizes that look. Disappointment and apprehension curdle in his stomach, killing off any other tendrils of feeling before they can bloom into a clear emotion. Of course she'd contacted them because some disaster was poised to fall. Of _course_. 

She looks behind them, out at the peaceful, busy village. "Come in and shut the door."

\---

When she first met Bellamy, she'd thought he was a misogynistic jerk. The jerk part turned out to be largely correct, but not the misogyny—and most of the jerkishness was due to his belief that she was the youngest person to lead her own Gate team only because her mother was the CMO, which, in fairness, was partly true. She'd worked hard to earn her position, but she knew she probably would never have been considered for the role so young (and so female: the military was still dragging its feet about joining the twenty-first century, in terms of equality) if it hadn't been for the influence of Dr. Abby Griffin. But she was good at her job, _really_ good, and once he'd realized that, they'd gotten along much better. Saving each others' lives a time or two had helped, too.

She wasn't sure when she'd come to depend on him as a universal constant.

It was hard _not_ to rely on Bellamy Blake. People found themselves doing it instinctively; it was one of her favorite things to witness, whenever there was a difficult situation, and everyone—SGC personnel and off-worlders alike—turned to Bellamy. She'd never seen him flinch from the responsibility, not once, but sometimes he looked to her for an opinion, and she cherished those moments, too. He knew she had knowledge and experience that complemented his own, and that she wasn't afraid to make the hard calls. He'd told her once that she was more ruthless than him. She's not sure whether or not he meant it as a compliment.

And she'll admit, if only to herself, that his trust warms her, probably more than it should. But she doesn't need anything more from him. His friendship is more than enough. If she still has it.

After half an hour in the unpleasantly meaty air of the charnel house, Bellamy packs Monty off to the Gate to open a wormhole and set up a radio call with General Pike, and mutters that he's going to get some fresh air. Ten minutes later, she finds him on a quiet wall, away from the crowds. He’s hoisted himself up onto it, kicking his heels against the crumbling plaster, eyes closed and face turned up to the sun. His hair is growing out slightly, curling over his ears, and the overall effect takes her back to a time before they became friends, when—following a one-in-a-billion Gate accident—she'd spent a day babysitting sulky, de-aged Bellamy Blake.

In retrospect, that had been one of the turning points in their relationship. It had been hard to maintain her dislike when his voice was squeaky and he barely reached her shoulder, swimming in the smallest set of BDUs they could find. 

"Griffin," he greets her, without opening his eyes. 

"Blake," she responds in kind, and hoists herself up onto the wall beside him. Bellamy isn't good at talking about his feelings, but she knows there's something bubbling under there, from the set of his shoulders and the texture of his silence, and that if she waits, if she gives him time, he'll eventually say what's on his mind.

And, sure enough, he finally breaks. "So is this a courtesy call?"

"Huh?"

He turns his head to look at her at last. "You. The whole end-of-the-universe schtick. After you've told Pike, and we're all appropriately terrified... then what? You gonna catch the next wormhole out, or are you waiting until after it's fixed?"

Ah. That. "You know the minute I step through the Gate to Earth, they'll arrest me, right?" she asks. "Even if I wanted..." The thought trails off, because she's not actually sure how she feels about coming back—if she wants to, or if she's even ready. 

He shrugs. "Kane and your mom would go to bat for you. So would I," he adds, after a pause. "And Pike's a pragmatist. At worst, he'd ground you for a while, maybe put your next promotion on hold for a year or two. But he knows we need you back on a team. _Leading_ a team."

Clarke drums her heels against the wall. "You did okay without me."

He grunts. "We haven't blown anything up yet," he concedes. "But that doesn't mean we're fine. Things are... well, they're different now." He falls silent again, but she feels as if the air between them is buzzing with unspoken questions, confessions, accusations... "You look better," he says at last, surprising her. "Did it help? Leaving?"

She nods, throat tight. She's still not ready to talk about everything that happened last year, but it doesn't feel like a staff blast to the stomach, any more. More like... a staff blast wound that's slowly healing. "Yes, it helped."

"Good. I'm glad." He doesn't qualify that, and she's just so relieved, for a second, that she leans into him and puts her head on his shoulder. He leans back against her without hesitation, cheek against her hair, and it's only because they're so close that she feels the shakiness of the breath he lets out.

"I _really_ missed you," she admits. She's said it already, but she wants him to know that she means him, specifically. 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He hmms, and she feels the vibration through her skull. "I'm glad you're not dead."

"Me too," she says. And for the first time in a long while, she means it.


End file.
